Who Is Mr. Prince's Next Girl?

There was a saying: “Those who prepare well will always seize the first opportunity.”

After working for Julian Grey for 2,315 days, my opportunity—my golden ticket—finally arrived.

At 1 a.m., my phone rang, jolting me from a restless sleep. On the other end was Marcus Caldwell, Julian’s closest friend and one of the city’s most notorious playboys. His voice was laced with urgency.

“Olivia, you’ve got to help. Julian’s drunk. Completely out of it. You’re the only one who can handle him.”

Drunk? Julian Grey? The man had never touched a drop of alcohol in all the years I’d worked for him. Suspicious but intrigued, I grabbed my coat and left my apartment.

Marcus was already waiting by the time I reached the address he’d texted. As I approached, I saw him unceremoniously shoved out of a sleek black car. The shove came from a single hand—one that wore a custom-made watch I’d picked up for Julian just yesterday.

I pretended not to notice Marcus’s embarrassment and instead turned my attention to the car. There, sprawled in the backseat, was Julian Grey, his usually sharp and commanding presence replaced by a flushed face, messy hair, and half-closed eyes. He looked less like the formidable billionaire I knew and more like an oversized golden retriever.

Dammit, he was adorable.

For a moment, I wanted to scoop him up, ruffle his hair, and call him a good boy. Instead, I composed myself and glanced at Marcus, who was brushing imaginary lint off his designer jacket.

“He refuses to leave the car,” Marcus explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And if anyone gets too close, he snaps at them. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Marcus gave me an apologetic smile—one so dazzling I could see why half the city’s women were infatuated with him. “I know it’s not part of your job, Olivia, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

Before I could respond, Julian’s voice drifted from the car. It wasn’t loud, but there was an unmistakable warmth to it.

“Olivia... you’re here.”

The way he said my name sent a small thrill through me. Yes, Julian, I’m here. And so is my chance at that million dollars.

With his cooperation, I managed to guide him out of the car and into the elevator. By the time we reached his penthouse, I’d removed his coat and watch, and he was docile as a lamb.

Once I’d gotten him to bed, I grabbed a towel and gently wiped his face. His usual stoicism had melted away, replaced by a soft, almost childlike smile. It was the first time I’d seen him like this—warm, open, and, dare I say, affectionate.

His hand brushed my cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. For the first time, it felt like Julian was seeing me—not as his assistant, but as something more. My heart raced as I realized how close I was to achieving my goal.

Then, without warning, Julian cupped my face and pulled me closer. His lips hovered just inches from mine.

This is it, I thought. My moment. My chance.

But something didn’t feel right. If Julian wanted me, why now? Why when he was drunk and vulnerable?

Before I could piece it together, Julian’s lips met mine. His kiss was practiced, passionate, and left me dizzy. I barely had time to process what was happening before he whispered in my ear:

“Chloe.”

My heart sank. Chloe?

I tried to rationalize it—maybe he was asking me to close the door? I glanced back and noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Could that really be the issue?

“Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’ll close it later.”

Julian didn’t protest. Instead, he pulled me closer, kissing me again with an intensity that made my knees weak. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that he wanted me. That I wasn’t just another faceless assistant in his life.

But then he sighed softly against my ear, his voice tinged with emotion.

“Chloe... you’re finally back.”

The name hit me like a slap to the face. He wasn’t asking me to close the door. He was calling for her.

Anger and humiliation surged through me. I shoved him back onto the bed, my hands trembling.

Julian blinked up at me, his gaze still filled with tenderness—not for me, but for this mysterious Chloe. Whoever she was, she clearly owned his heart in a way I never could.

Enough was enough. I’d spent years cleaning up after him, enduring insults from his girlfriends, and dreaming of a life that clearly wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t need his million dollars. Not anymore.

Without a word, I turned and left him there, sprawled on the bed, still murmuring Chloe’s name.

As I stepped out into the cold night air, I felt a strange sense of relief. Julian Grey might have been the prince charming of my fantasies, but he wasn’t worthy of my reality.